The Forsaken
by Wing Raider
Summary: A weird twist of fate launches Dante back into the hunt for Mundus. But it is within the heart of the Forsaken that his true destiny lies.


The Forsaken

Wing Raider

Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry or any of the aforementioned characters. I am just using them for my own personal devices.

***

Rise of the Fire

***

The lithe form of a man sat on the roof of the black sedan, hunched over, trying to keep his agitation from spilling over into vocalization. His short, orange nails rapped against the metal in a symphony of unspoken anxiety and upheaval. His men were nothing short of bumbling idiots and had him going around in circles for days on end, making to progress what so ever. They had taken him everywhere and had gotten him no further from where he was when he started. But the ambient searching wasn't all in vain; it had taken them weeks, but they had finally found a lead. The only problem with the lead was they would never get any information out of him; he died in a bar fight before they could question him. He had died in a flurry of bullets, glass, and a destroyed bar; this didn't sit well with him. 

He had almost released the brunt of his unyielding power on the hapless men he called accomplices when a foreign, yet familiar feeling flooded his senses. The sensation itself was akin to the brush of hair on his face, but the aftershocks had rocked him to the core. The sensation was one he had felt before; it was comforting, it was home. But it was nothing more than a brush on his consciousness, but that brush was enough for him to chase down till his death. 

He followed the fleeting sense across the entire length of the town, up and down stairs, in and out of alleyways. His prey was a cunning sort of being, but that wouldn't stop him from getting him in the end. And that desire lead him to where he now sat, staring down another deserted alleyway at the faintly buzzing sign.

This area reeked of death and blood, but it was not a death that any of his numb witted assistants would ever know, let alone understand. This death was deeper than any pit that they as people had ever been in. This death saturated the air and called out to his sense of revenge, call out to him as a brother. He yearned to answer that call, but that would put him in more hot water than he was already in and that was not what he was there to do. 

He looked solemnly down at his men; they all stood at least half a head taller than him, so he took up the highest vantage point to watch all of them. He didn't trust the morons any father than he could throw them, mostly because they had half a wit between the lot of them, but they were the best available to him at the time. _'I can not wait to work with a professional again. These bumbling idiots are trying my patience.'_ They very thought of working with the imbeciles for one more moment was giving him a headache. 

"Sir?" One of the men asked. He turned slightly from his position to look at the man who had addressed him. The man shrank back under his condescending gaze. "Should we get started?" He nodded slightly; they had waited long enough. If he wasn't coming out, they would go in after him.

"But remember what I told you," he replied coldly. "Tell him only what is necessary to get him out here, do not leave without him or you won't leave with your life and for the love of all things holy, DO NO PISS HIM OFF. Is that understood?" They all nodded their consent. The one who had spoken walked towards the building they had staked out. _'Oh sweet Lucifer, don't let him screw this up; I can not afford another big mistake.'_  

***

Trish paced across the floor, wondering if her wayward partner would ever get up. It always worried her when he pulled stunts like this, but this behavior was frequent with the demon-hunter. He had returned from his latest hunt in a near dead condition; whatever it was that he was hunting seemed to be hunting him too. The beast had eaten him, or so he had told her while assessing the damage the beast had done to him, and there had been only one available way for him to get out, so he had taken it. 

He had taken the few necessary moments required to clean his wounds up to prevent infection when they healed over in a matter of hours and then had promptly went and collapsed into his bed. That had been over six hours ago. 

What made the matter worse was that Dante had taken this hunt the night before and had returned at three that afternoon. No hunt had ever taken him that long, so it had unnerved the woman slightly. With everything, Dante always made a quick kill; this made everything feel off to her. _'Is he loosing his touch or am I going slowly crazy?' _

Trish ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm herself. She knew in the back of her mind that he would be fine, but she was more concerned what she would do if she got a password. The office wasn't the most impenetrable and with Dante less than capable than defending himself, she was apprehensive about leaving the half-devil sleeping, weakened, and alone. She knew that once he was awake, Dante would be able to handle himself and anything that would dare cross him. But it was a matter of him waking up. He could sleep through the apocalypse when he was healing, so he could be dead before he could awaken to stop his ironic death. 

She sighed again; she was hoping that he would have woken up by now, it had been six hours, but he was still not amongst the land of the living. There was something unnerving about his sleeping pattern today and that just added onto her mound of growing anxiety. 

She halted her pacing when she heard the door creak open and then click shut again. She turned slowly on her heel to look at the intruder. It was odd that anyone would actual come to see them about anything, so this visitor made her antsy.

"Can I help you?" She tried to sound as kind as possible despite her irate attitude, but it wasn't working as well as she had intended. Along with the irate tone, a twinge of fear had slipped out. She hoped the man hadn't picked up on her anxiety. Fortunately for her, he hadn't.

"I'm looking for Dante Sparda," the man replied. He was calm in his manor of speaking, but his body language displayed his own anxieties. 

He stood almost two feet over Trish's head and had shoulders almost as wide as the door. He wore a long trench coat and hat and kept his face hidden. Trish was a bit unnerved at this man's presence; there was something about him, the way he walked and talked, that made her wonder. She had never met someone like him, but she seemed to know him in the same way. It was eerie, but not enough to unnerve her. The thing that was really unnerving about him was the aura surrounding him that caused the woman to worry about her safety. Something about the man screamed 'deadly.'

She shifted uneasily towards the staircase; she knew if she made enough noise, Dante would wake up and, hopefully, come to help her if it got too ugly. But this was all weighted on Dante waking up.

"He's not available right now," she said this to dispose the man. The man didn't seem deterred by the reply. 

"I can wait." She sighed; this didn't go as she had planned. The man lowered himself down on the couch. He seemed to be ready to wait until the end of eternity for the man. _'I hope he can take a hint and get lost soon.'_ The air hung thickly as they sat in each other's presence. Trish was trying to asses whether or not she could take him out without Dante or whether she could escape to try and wake the demon- hunter for help.

"Can I get you something?"

"No thank you, I'm quite all right." She sighed. This man really had no idea how bad she wanted him to leave. Hopefully Dante would get up and save her. 

"Is there anything that I can…?"

"What in the name of all of hell is going the fuck on?" Trish turned to the staircase and watched Dante stumble down the stairs. The demon- hunter stumbled down the stairs, half awake and seemingly drunk. He always had an aura of drunkenness when he first awoke from a healing sleep. It took him a few minutes to regain his senses.

He was wearing loose flowing pants and a white wife beater. The bandages underneath were tainted with dried blood from the prior wounds he had received. It was his normal sleeping attire and she was surprised that he had enough functionality to actually get into it earlier. "Who in the hell is this guy?" The man thrust a finger at the guest of sorts.

"Damned if I know," Trish replied, stepping to the side to let the white haired man pass. Dante walked towards the couch. He gazed at the man sitting there and wondered why this man had invaded his office. In the first few moments of seeing the man, Dante assessed the risk the man posed. Not really fearing him, Dante put up his normal front. 

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need you to come with me." Dante stared at the man questioningly. He couldn't believe the audacity of the man to think that he would actually go somewhere with someone he had never met on his own accord. What did he think he was, daft?

"You what?"

"I want you to come with me." The man stood up from his seat and approached the dark knight.

"Not on your life ass." The man made no effort to reply. "Now get out of my office." The larger man still made no movement to leave or to approach the devil. Dante's blood began to boil; he was loosing his temper very rapidly. "I said, get out of MY GOD DAMNED OFFICE!" The man didn't move once again. This pushed the devil closer to the edge. He was loosing his temper fast and had no desire to take it out on this innocent; as ignorant as he may be, he was still an innocent. "Look you bastard, you have one last chance to get out before I BLAST YOUR FACE OFF." The man snorted. 

"If I were you, I wouldn't be saying that. If I were you, I would fear me." Dante stared at him.

"Are you out of your mind?" The man snorted. "Do you have any idea who you are up against?"

"Yes." The man reached into his coat and pulled out a desert eagle. "I know exactly what I'm dealing with."

***

He shifted nervously on the top of the car, this was taking far longer than he had expected and he didn't like it. He knew these idiots were trouble and that he should do it himself, but there would have been a more violent response to his appearance than one of the pitiful mortals. _'So it was the pitiful mortals. Well now what __Eldsdyrkare? You've gone this far, now what do you do?'___

 "Isn't he done yet?" one of his minions asked.

"No, but I'm going in." He pushed off of the bar and toward the office. 

"Are you sure…?" The man spun quickly back to his minions, his cape swinging in the force of the turn. 

"I am doing this so we can get done and get back to reality." He turned back around and walked off. _'I hope I'm not too late.'_

***

Dante crumpled slightly under the force of the bullet. He gasped for breath as he dabbed his fingers into the wound. The man dropped the gun to his side. 

"This is your last chance; you have one last time to come with me." Dante struggled to his feet. He stared at the other man. 

"You are so dead!" Dante charged and slammed the man into the opposing wall. He tightened his grip around the man's throat. The man stared down at his attacker; Dante was far from happy, but that wasn't what scared the man. The arcs of lighting radiating from Dante's arms scared him the most. The only other person with that ability had died years before. Something wasn't right about Dante and it made the larger man nervous. Amidst the flash of anger of the dark knight, the door slammed open.

"AREIL!" Another figure dashed into the room and to the other man. "What in the name of all FLYING FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" 

"Getting him to cooperate." The smaller form wedged itself between Dante and his prey, efficiently prying them apart. He placed his hands on Dante's chest and pushed him back towards Trish. "Why is it that you can't follow orders? I tell you to do something as simple as not to shoot him and what do you do? You come close to killing what we've come for. I swear YOU DOLT! Why is it that NO ONE can follow simple orders?" He turned back to the other man. "I want to go outside and tell the others you are going HOME." The man raised his hand as if to protest "NO! I am going to do this MYSELF like it should have been done IN THE FIRST PLACE! Now, GET LOST!" The other man sighed and slowly exited. "Why can't I find decent help?" The man's light British accent floated through the dead air of the night. "No, I can find decent help, its competent help that I can't find." Dante and Trish exchanged confused glances. The man turned back to the pair. "I'm sorry for everything that happened. It was never meant to happen this way, but some people just can't listen to simple directions." He sighed. "I really had no intentions on shooting you. I wanted this to be diplomatic, but it obviously didn't turn out that way. SO I say we start anew. Is that all right?" Dante stared blankly at him.

"Anything is ok with me at this point if you do me one favor."

"Yes?"

"Tell me who the hell you are."

"Ah, yes. Introductions." The man reached up and pulled the hood from over his head. As the dark material settled onto his shoulders, the pair across the room got a good look at their new company. His shoulder length red hair fluttered as he tossed it out from underneath the heavy cloth of his robe. This simple act showed the true beauty of the substance; each strand shifted in the variant shades of fire with every movement its owner made. The man's skin was the palest shade of white. He looked like someone deathly ill or someone all ready dead. The most prominent feature was the flame that extended from his hairline to the crest of his cheek on the right side. 

"You're… Not… Human…" Trish stuttered. The guest chuckled lightly at the girl's observation.

"Well isn't that the most obvious statement of the night? I," he raised his left hand to his chest revealing his two inch, red nails. "I am Ifrit." Dante's jaw hit the floor. The only Ifrit he had ever known of were the gauntlets that hung on the wall behind him. "As in the gauntlets hanging on your wall Ifrit," he replied, as if reading Dante's thoughts.

"You're real?" Ifrit smiled lightly at the question.

"As real as the nose one your face my dear boy."

"But why are you here?" Ifrit's expression darkened; whatever he was here for was obviously not good.

"We are in need of serious help and your father is nowhere to be found."

"What?" Ifrit sighed; it was apparent that the half breed knew less about his heritage than he thought.

"Because he is a devil, your father is immortal, as in he can't die from conventional 'human' means." Dante nodded; he knew and understood this fully. "Now because he was an assassin of Lucifer, he can't die, period. We just can't seem to find him." Dante stared at Ifrit, trying to comprehend what the demon was saying.

"We?" Dante was becoming lost. Ifrit sighed; this was going to be harder than he imagined.

"The underworld. No one down there had been able to find him."

"But what does my father have to do with you needing me?"

"It is because we can not find him that we need you." Dante arced an eyebrow at Ifrit. The demon sighed and ran his hands through his hair, trying to keep his temper under control. "Mundus' reign is beginning to spread in the underworld and I can not handle it alone."

"Why doesn't Lucifer handle it?"

"Lucifer has other things to attend to at the present moment."

"And why are you alone?" Ifrit shifted; this wasn't something he liked to talk about.

"You father disappeared and Alistor," he pointed at the sword hanging on the wall. "Died."

"I'm under the assumption that he was an assassin too?" Ifrit nodded. "Then why is he dead?"

"Mundus' black magic. It prevented Alistor from returning. Fortunate for us Lucifer was able to harness his power, but it was useless to all of the minions of the underworld because it was only meant to be handled, used, by one. It was because Lucifer went to dispose of the worthless sword that Mundus took over. And by the time he returned, Lucifer was too weak to do anything. We were blessed that you came along."

"Right, right. But why are you here?"

"I have come, by the order of Lord Lucifer of the Underworld, to bring to him the wielder of the sword of Alistor and the bearer of the power of the namesake of the sword: you." Dante shifted his weight, still trying to figure out the mess Ifrit had presented to him.

"How can I bear Alistor's power?" Ifrit sighed agitatedly.

"I do not know myself. He always was elusive with his ways of doing things. He never told anyone anything. But that is beside the point. I feel fortunate that I found you."

"Why do you say that?"

"You are not an easy one to track, Dark Knight Dante. But I need to know if you are willing to help me, us, the underworld, and the Earth in one clean sweep." Dante pondered for a moment before looking at Trish. Trish shrugged; she seemed not to care and Dante knew she could handle herself alone. He turned back to Ifrit.

"All right, I'm in. What do you need me to do?" Ifrit smiled.

"It is very simple; return to the underworld with me."

***


End file.
